


Yellow Lovely

by corvidConstellation, randombubblegum



Category: Waterparks (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Double Dare Era, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Made In America Tour, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Break Up, Synesthesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25219093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidConstellation/pseuds/corvidConstellation, https://archiveofourown.org/users/randombubblegum/pseuds/randombubblegum
Summary: The situation is, admittedly, not completely out of left field. One might have guessed that Awsten’s girlfriend with a history of cheating would eventually cheat on him. But honestly, having it happen right in the middle of a tour before their new album was a curveball and a dick move.The only mysterious thing about it is that he’s also picked up the habit of avoiding Otto like the plague.
Relationships: Awsten Knight & Geoff Wigington & Otto Wood, Awsten Knight & Jawn Rocha, Awsten Knight/Otto Wood
Comments: 18
Kudos: 87





	1. Otto

**Author's Note:**

> Written collaboratively via lots of yelling and shared chaos.

“This is bad,” Jawn mutters.  
  
Otto bounces his leg and spares a glance at the busy hallway, the same way he’s sure everyone in the room is glancing at the hallway. Because this hallway is the one with the bunks, and in one of those bunks is Awsten Knight, crying his eyes out ten feet away.  
  
“Yeah,” Geoff sighs. “This is bad.”  
  
And there’s not much more to say. Otto looks at them helplessly, and they look at him and each other the exact same way. It’s the sort of look that casts out two messages simultaneously; the first being ‘ _I’m fresh out of ideas, y’all’_ , and the second being, ‘ _well, you’re his best friend too, don’t you have any ideas?’_ _  
_  
But none of them have an answer.  
  
Awsten just took the emotional equivalent of getting run over by an 18-wheeler, and the kicker of it is that he and everyone on the side of the road saw the truck coming a long way off.  
  
He had to have seen it coming, right? Otto can think of three demo songs with suspicious lyrics, all of which were written forever ago, nearly at the same time as Double Dare was.  
  
“We can’t stop the tour,” Geoff says reluctantly. “He wouldn’t even want that, realistically. Not really. We’re only eight dates in.”  
  
Otto and Jawn nod, understanding. If they gave Awsten the option, there’s a chance he’d take the out and go back to Houston to mope in peace, but there’s a 100% chance he’d hate himself later for canceling a tour, especially a headlining one. Money aside, Awsten’s pride when it comes to professionalism is something they all try to leave as untouched as possible.  
  
Geoff presses his lips together and raises his head again towards the bunks. “We can’t intervene either. He never wants to talk.”  
  
“He’ll come out with it when he wants to,” Jawn says.  
  
“Yeah, but _when?”_ Geoff says, voice rising in anger. “He’s not gonna tell us shit until the time for helping him has come and gone! That’s how he _always_ is!”  
  
Jawn doesn’t respond. He meets Geoff’s eye and waits.  
  
Geoff deflates after a second. “I— I’m sorry. But I mean it.”  
  
“I know,” Jawn admits. “You’re right.”  
  
“Can we…” Otto trails off when they turn to him, and he swallows. “I don’t know what will help. But we have to try, don’t we?”  
  
“What if we’re overstepping, and it breaks up the band?” Geoff asks.  
  
“Maybe it will,” Otto admits, even though it pains him to acknowledge the possibility. “I just can’t stand the idea of looking away and doing nothing at all. I mean, could you imagine? If we stayed quiet and kept our heads down and made Awsten perform up there, pouring his heart out while we just sat there and played along? Fuck public image, dude. He’s our _friend_ . Are we gonna sit here and let him think he has to go through it alone?”  
  
Nobody answers when he goes quiet.  
  
Otto sighs and drops his gaze to the lounge floor. “Look, I know it could blow up in our faces, and he could close off and whatever. But I’d rather kill this band with kindness than neglect.”  
  
“I agree,” Geoff says, nodding. “He’s right. We have to make sure the door’s open.”  
  
“It’s not that I _don’t_ agree. It’s just that I’m worried about it backfiring and him closing off,” Jawn admits. “Maybe that makes me a coward. Shit. I really don’t know.”  
  
“No,” Otto says. “I’m scared too.”  
  
“Fucking terrified,” Geoff says emphatically.  
  
“I just think we have to be willing to offer up that olive branch. Even if he takes it the wrong way. We gotta try,” Otto says.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Whoever came up with the phrase ‘easier said than done’ should win an award or fifty, because they were spot-fucking-on.  
  
“Morning, Awsten,” Otto says, keeping his voice light as he stumbles towards the front end of the bus, where Awsten occupies one of the couches.  
  
Awsten flinches in surprise, looking up at him and nodding. “Oh. Hey.”  
  
“Anything good left in the fridge?”  
  
“You’re just gonna eat cereal anyway,” Awsten says, and then he turns back to his phone.  
  
Otto nods and heads for the cabinets, trying to hide how awkward this is. Ordinarily, he’d be scrambling back to his bunk, but there’s not going to be a better time to talk to Awsten. Once they get to the venue, Awsten will be caught up in either his own thoughts or professionalism, and there’ll be no room for reassuring emotional chats.  
  
Then again, forcing conversation isn’t really the smoothest way either. But even sitting quietly in Awsten’s proximity might drive him away in search of being alone. Fuck, this is hard.  
  
He grabs a box of cereal and feigns excitement. “Sick, there’s still some left!”  
  
“Yeah?” Awsten says, in kind of a _‘duh’_ tone.  
  
“Dude, Geoff can and _has_ stuffed his face with my Reese’s Puffs before,” Otto says. “You know how he is.”  
  
“You’re both disgusting with that garbage,” Awsten says flatly. His eyes drop back to his phone screen. Fuck, and that’s Otto’s cue that he’s lost this round of conversation, even when they were literally, like, four sentences in.  
  
He takes his bowl back to his bunk without even pouring milk.  
  


* * *

  
  
Shows are bad.  
  
They go like this:  
  
Awsten spends his time in the green room more intently focused than he’s ever been before. He stares off into the distance, pacing and running vocal warm-ups, not saying a word to anyone. For the first time in recorded history, he leaves his phone on the bus. Otto thinks he’s psyching himself up.  
  
They go onstage. They sing songs written years ago. Some are about her and some are about other girls, but right now every single one sounds like it’s entirely about her. They switched the order to put _Pink_ between _Stupid For You_ and _Blonde,_ just to give Awsten something to sing about that’s less emotionally charged. “Less” being the keyword because _all_ their fucking songs are about his mental state. God only knows why Awsten refuses to take _21 Questions_ off the setlist. He cries mid-set sometimes, but he never stops singing, and once they’re done, Awsten usually slips away before he can watch Sleep On It or Chapel’s performances, which he previously wouldn’t have missed for the world.  
  
Jawn follows him, most of the time. He says Awsten goes back to the bunks to cry.  
  
Otto is glad _Powerless_ and _I’ll Always Be Around_ were never on this tour’s setlist to begin with.  
  


* * *

  
  
The first time he really gives it a shot is when Awsten wakes him up in the middle of the night.  
  
Otto’s breathing hard, his heart hammering out of his chest, body totally tense, and yet his mind’s completely fucking at a loss as to why.  
  
“Sleep paralysis,” Awsten says as an explanation, still leaning over him, a silhouette against the soft nighttime lights of the bus. His hands pull away from Otto’s shoulders, where he’d presumably shaken Otto out of his sleep. He can still feel the lingering heat from Awsten’s palms, how the air cools the skin where he’d been touched.  
  
Still panting, Otto swallows. “Oh. Thanks.”  
  
“Yeah. No prob,” Awsten says. He stands up and starts to walk away.  
  
Otto rolls over on his bunk to crawl out. “Hey— wait, Awsten.”  
  
Awsten turns around, eyebrows furrowed.  
  
“What time is it?”

“Like, three,” Awsten replies.  
  
“Why are you up?” Otto asks.  
  
Awsten doesn’t say anything.  
  
Otto slides out of his bunk and stands up. “Could— could we go to the lounge? So we don’t wake up anyone else?”  
  
There’s a tense moment where neither of them makes a move, and Otto worries that Awsten will just climb up to his bunk and the chance to talk will be lost. But then the moment passes. Awsten nods and turns and heads for the lounge.  
  
With another deep breath to calm himself (his body is still riding the adrenaline kick), Otto follows him in and sits on the couch opposite.  
  
“It’s pretty late,” Awsten says needlessly.  
  
“Yeah,” Otto nods. “But neither of us can sleep anyway.”  
  
He thinks about what to say.

He could point out that neither of them wants to be alone at the moment, but that would come off pretty presumptuous. Or maybe he should ask what’s going on, risking Awsten closing off more. Besides, Otto fucking _knows_ what’s going on, and talking to him about how the tour’s going is a little too close to guilt-tripping Awsten.

There’s no way to dance around it without making it sound like he’s babying Awsten, so he supposes his best way to approach is to face it head-on with sensitivity.  
  
“So. I know I don’t understand totally how you’ve been feeling,” Otto begins, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “But I have _eyes_ . I know it’s really rough right now and you’re feeling the weight of it. I’m not trying to police how you… _deal with it,_ or anything, but I just want you to know that I’m… that we’re here for you, and we love you.”  
  
Awsten stares at him with the perfect blend of surprise, disbelief, and actual anger. “That’s such bullshit. You do realize that _saying_ you’re here for me doesn’t actually _mean_ anything, right?”  
  
“What? I’m just trying—“  
  
“Yeah, if you were _trying_ to be comforting, you fucking failed that one.”  
  
The venom in his voice takes Otto by surprise. “No, Awsten, I’m just trying to make sure you know you don’t have to keep everything to yourself,” Otto says. “We’re your friends. We want to listen if it would help.”  
  
“Well it _wouldn’t_ help,” Awsten says. “I don’t think talking about how often I cry or how shitty I feel is going to fix it!”  
  
“But—”  
  
“Good _night_ , Otto,” Awstens spits, standing up and stalking out of the lounge.  
  
_Great._ _  
_  
  


* * *

  
  
Otto might not know how, but he knows he’s fucked something up, and he watches the next day for Awsten’s behavior to worsen.  
  
The funny thing is, it doesn’t.  
  
He sits with Geoff at lunch, and they talk for the whole time. When they get to the venue, Awsten goes through soundcheck and disappears. Otto heads off to find another band to hang with so that he can give Awsten space to be alone on the bus, but he runs into Awsten chatting with Kortney pretty animatedly. The period of time before the show is much the same, except Awsten has his phone on him and he occasionally stops his vocal warm-ups to show Jawn a tweet.  
  
Awsten is markedly happier throughout the day. He _laughs._ And he has his moody moments in the downtime, but he seeks out company more often than not.  
  
Just as they step out to the wings in preparation of performance, Jawn finds Otto, where he stands further back. “Okay, was it _you?”_ _  
_  
“Was what me?” Otto asks.  
  
“Did you get through to Awsten?” Jawn asks.  
  
“I talked to him, but he got super defensive and yelled at me,” Otto says.  
  
Jawn shrugs. “Maybe that’s what he needed. You got further than any of us did.”  
  
And Jawn walks away, because the house lights go down and they’re given a thumbs up by the stage crew, so Otto walks out to his kit and sets up and starts pounding the shit out of some drums. He doesn’t have time to talk to Jawn more, but it’s just as well. There’s no good reason for him to complain about how Awsten hasn’t so much as looked at him all day. The tight feeling it leaves in his chest isn’t important; Awsten is doing better. This is a good thing.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
His intent isn’t to eavesdrop, but privacy is a rare, borderline-mythical thing on tour.  
  
Otto is behind their bus breathing in the freezing Chicago air when he hears Awsten’s voice. He’s checking through his texts and listening to voicemails that have been piling up when someone knocks on the bus door. That alone is kinda weird, because who knocks? Even the Sleep On It dudes ditched their politeness after the first couple weeks of tour.  
  
So he listens in, curious.  
  
He hears the door open and close after someone steps out. “Hey,” Awsten’s voice says. “Sorry. Lost track of time.”  
  
“It’s no problem,” someone says back. Otto runs through all the voices he knows on tour and is surprised to recognize it as Patty, from As It Is. “It’s not like this is time-sensitive.”  
  
Their footsteps come closer and stop right behind the bus itself. Otto’s literally a corner away from them. He gets the urge to walk away, to leave them their privacy. It’s probably not important — why would a conversation between two songwriters on tour be important? And even if it is important and personal, Otto should definitely leave them be. He thinks this, and then presses himself against the bus and listens anyway.  
  
“So?” Patty asks. “Let’s talk this out, man.”  
  
“I know— I know. It’s just like… really hard to put it in words that don’t make me sound like a whiny toddler. You have, like, experience and a long-term relationship and stuff.”  
  
“Awsten, c’mon, I’m like a year older than you. We could’ve been in the same classes in high school.”  
  
“I know— it… it just sounds dumb. I know what the answer to all my problems _is_ , too! The answer is _‘get over it’._ Right? I’m not gonna get with her again. She— she… you _know_ what she did to me. That’s not something I should forgive, or _would_ forgive. I know when something’s a game over. But everywhere I look I keep getting reminded how fucking _dumb_ I was to love her that much.”  
  
“It was real for you. Whether or not she was playing you doesn’t really matter,” Patty says agreeably. “It mattered to you.”  
  
“And I was so invested,” Awsten says. “And now I can’t stand anything that I associate with her. Like, I get _physically_ nauseous, my heart hurts so much.”  
  
“I’m sorry, man. That’s really rough.”

“I’m crying constantly. It’s awful. It feels awful,” Awsten emphasizes. “I feel like I should be stronger than that.”

“Awsten, if you think I’m gonna listen to this ‘men don’t cry’ ideology without correcting you, you’re talking to the wrong guy,” Patty says gently. “You’re absolutely allowed to grieve. I can’t overstate how important it is not to bottle it up for the sake of getting over it.”  
  
“But I _want_ to be over it. I don’t know what I can even do. There’s stuff that reminds me of her that I can’t just ignore.”  
  
“Ignoring it is a bad idea, yeah, but why not try and move forward from here? Trash the music about her. It’s your career, and there’s always more albums to write. You don’t have to sing about her if you don’t want to anymore.”  
  
Awsten doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “It’s not just the songs. It’s everything.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
A hesitant noise comes from Awsten, and then he clears his throat. “Okay. Uh, so like, I have this thing called synesthesia. Ever heard of it?”  
  
“Yeah. That’s where you register sounds as both noise and color, right?”  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly it. So to me, almost every sound has a color. Sounds like... music. Or voices.”  
  
“Ohhh. So even though someone might not _sound_ like her—”  
  
“Yeah. Some people look exactly like she did.”  
  
It’s amazing how fast dread kicks in. Realization slams into Otto like a brick wall. It’s not like Awsten ever tried to hide how he heard people, either. Allusions to color are everywhere in Double Dare. He doesn’t know how he didn’t make the connection earlier, because it’s so blatantly obvious now that he thinks about it.  
  
Otto shares the color yellow with Ciara.  
  


* * *

The first order of business is that he stops wearing his yellow shirts.  
  
This is not a huge sacrifice, admittedly. He has maybe three yellow shirts packed for this tour, but it includes the cardigan and the “BA DUM TSS” crop top and the yellow-white striped one, so he feels a little bad about retiring some of his favorite clothes mid-tour. But, then again, Awsten. Otto shakes his head and shoves the yellow clothes into the bottom of his luggage to be dug up only once they get back home.  
  
This, Otto thinks, is nothing when weighed against Awsten’s comfort.

* * *

Otto's not sure he’s willing to admit, even to himself, how much it hurts having Awsten avoid him. Not when Awsten’s suffering so much more, over something so much bigger.

Let it be clear: Otto had never thought Awsten and Ciara were going to work out forever. It was clear from the start that her nonchalance and Awsten's dogged, lovestruck devotion were not a combination that would end in marital bliss and a white picket fence, no matter what Awsten thought. Otto knew. Jawn knew. Fucking Geoff knew, and Geoff is far from the most observant person in the world. But Awsten had been so happy when he was with her, at least at first. He lit up when he talked about her. He would be up all night, grinning goofily at his phone. The exhausting, absurdly expensive trips to LA that he made were worth it to him because of how happy he was when they were together. He would ramble about how she was the first person to remember his favorite colors, and how he’d finally met his match.

Otto missed him, even though he didn't go anywhere, not really. But Awsten was happy, and Otto was content.

If he's being honest with himself, which he tries to be as much as he can, he probably knew how he felt about Awsten before he started dating Ciara. The little flutters he felt when Awsten would turn that bright, wild gaze on him, begging him to join in on the stupidest activity he's ever heard of. The gooey, goofy smile he could feel spreading across his own face every time Awsten tried to tell a story and started laughing so hard he couldn't finish his own joke. The comfortable warmth every time he would look up during practice and catch Awsten already looking back at him. 

If he’s being _really_ honest with himself, he might have even known there was something about Awsten way back when he looked at Otto that very first time, flier in his outstretched hand, and smiled like a megawatt bulb. He might have known when he made a MySpace account, even though the internet wigged him out, to message Awsten about playing drums in his band, even though he wasn’t crazy about the drums.

Otto wasn't stupid. He'd just... thought he had time to figure it out.

When Awsten started dating Ciara, it felt like it happened overnight; one day he was Otto's best pal, wheedling him into making paper towel castles at Walmart, and the next he was always in SoCal, or whispering on the phone in the back lounge, or holed up in his bunk messaging her who knows what.

But Awsten was happy, and Otto was content.

That's what he told himself.

(No one can be honest with themselves all the time.)

* * *

  
  
Another thing to clarify: Awsten hasn’t stopped crying.  
  
The more Otto watches, the more he thinks everyone is making a mistake in relaxing around Awsten. Yes, he’s talking, and _yes_ , he’s no longer spending every spare moment hiding in his bunk to cry in peace, but that doesn’t mean he’s better.  
  
Otto knows from years of being Awsten’s friend that Awsten will play nice with just about anyone if he thinks it will make things easier. For all his anger in certain songs, and all his claims about starting beef, Awsten knows how to put on a fake smile and remember his manners.  
  
“He’s not better,” Otto tells Jawn at one Michigan gas station stop where Awsten is staying behind.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Awsten.”  
  
“Yeah, no _shit_ . The girl he was gonna marry eviscerated him two weeks ago,” Jawn says, rolling his eyes. Something in Otto’s chest twinges. Jawn continues down the snack aisle in search of something good. “He’s getting there.”  
  
“I don’t think he is,” Otto interjects, pulling at Jawn’s shoulder.  
  
Jawn turns, unperturbed. “These things take time, Otto.”  
  
“But— okay, think about it. Is he _actually_ crying any less?” Otto presses. “Or is he just doing the bare minimum of human interaction, and we got so used to him being severely withdrawn that we’re taking what we can get?”  
  
There’s a flicker of Jawn’s eyes, where he glances away to think, and Otto knows that he’s won because once Jawn starts thinking, he literally never stops. Paranoid motherfucker. At the moment, though, Jawn shakes his head. “You’re just overthinking it because you got on his nerves and he’s not talking to you.”  
  
That stings. Somehow, knowing that other people have noticed it too makes him feel… worse. Otto’s tempted to ask why Jawn didn’t do anything if he noticed— but what would he have done? What _could_ he have done?  
“Look, he’s…” Jawn covers for his hesitance by going back to perusing the interstate gas station’s snack selection. “Awsten needs time more than anything else. Healing takes _time_ . He’ll get there, especially since your plan worked, and he’s actually talking to us now.”  
  
“Is it about anything that matters, though?” Otto asks. “Or is it just chatter?”  
  
Jawn wavers, and Otto knows that his educated guess struck another bullseye. He’d celebrate if his confirmed suspicions didn’t mean Awsten was doing terribly.  
  
“I don’t know how to fix that,” Otto says. “But would you keep a closer eye on him? Please?”  
  
“I’m always keeping an eye on him,” Jawn scoffs. It’s uneasy, though, belying the fact that he’s bluffing for everything he’s worth.  
  
“Thank you.” Otto grabs a pack of Teddy Grahams and heads for the register.

* * *

  
  
Otto watches from afar because he doesn’t have any other choice. Awsten won’t have conversations with him; he always finds an excuse to go do something else, or check some guitar lick with Ben, or grab a forgotten water bottle from the bus. His aversion to Otto becomes undeniable.  
  
“Oh, just fuckin’ remembered— ah…” Awsten presses his eyes closed, like he’s trying to recall a prior commitment. Or _invent_ one. “My— I was gonna eat those blueberries before the show. They’re gonna go bad soon so I oughta slam them before I forget. I’ll go grab them—“  
  
And Awsten’s out of the room, no less than ten seconds after Geoff called Otto over for an opinion. Otto’s used to the sinking feeling of disappointment by now.  
  
Otto sighs. “For the record, I think long sleeves in summer are stylish as long as you don’t give yourself heat exhaustion.”  
  
“Man, what is his _problem_ with you?” Geoff exclaims. “Nothing happened! Literally you just tried to help him, and he took your advice! There’s nothing about that that warrants the way he’s acting right now.”  
  
“It’s not that,” Otto says. “It’s ‘cause of my voice.”  
  
“Your…” Geoff squints, uncomprehending.  
  
“Remember how Awsten has that thing where he sees color with sounds?” Otto asks. He crosses his arms uneasily. “Guess who’s unlucky enough to have a voice the same color as Ciara.”  
  
“No way,” Geoff says. “He’s not that shallow. He’s _Awsten.”_

“I’m not saying he’s judging me. I think it’s, like, unintentional association. He’s not avoiding me to be mean, he’s avoiding me because my voice reminds him of her. And it’s not like he can change how he hears my voice.”

Geoff pauses and shakes his head. “That’s dumb. It’s not even… within your control.”  
  
“Oh, it’s _totally_ within my control,” Otto mutters. “He doesn’t see shit from my voice so long as I shut up.”  
  
“But it’s not _fair_ . He shouldn’t be mad at you over it. It’s not like you can change it, either. It’s not even a bad thing, it’s just your voice.“  
  
“But like…” Otto is grasping at straws to explain it, but he knows that he’s right. “I don’t think it matters if it’s my fault or not, right? Either way, it’s hurting him. Accidental or not, damage is damage.”  
  
“That’s his problem,” Geoff says.  
  
Otto would say more, but Awsten picks that moment to reappear, so Otto slips away to pick up the drumsticks and warm up his wrists. As he raps out a double stroke roll on the leather couch cushion, he’s lost in happier memories of Chipotle lunches and 3-day-long movie marathons.

* * *

  
  


It’s not very hard to stop talking.

At first, he makes sure that when he’s around Awsten, he’s only talking in short sentences, and he handles the necessary conversations by nodding and shrugging. Being agreeable and nonverbal moves a conversation along. That alone isn’t foreign to him; it’s how he acts around strangers, mostly. So it’s not super difficult to slide back into old patterns.

But bit by bit, Otto starts noticing that Awsten flinches when he talks to Jawn on the couch, or when he’s chatting with Foley, or when he’s on the phone with his mom. He realizes that for Awsten, the problem is not that he’s being addressed by a voice that looks like hers. It’s that there is a voice like hers at all.

The obvious solution is to stop his voice.

He brushes off Geoff’s concerned whispers with unconcerned grunts. It’s not like he had anything important to say; trivial comments are pretty much 99% of what he says in a day anyway. With the ones he’d normally make to Awsten off the table, he doesn’t have much left to talk about.

And then Geoff starts texting.

> _Geoff W. 10:02_
> 
> _We have to talk about this_
> 
> _Geoff W. 10:02_
> 
> _There’s gotta be a better_
> 
> _way to sort this out_
> 
> _Me 10:09_
> 
> _He just needs time._
> 
> _Geoff W. 10:10_
> 
> _Yeah. Time to get it_
> 
> _together, not to ignore his_
> 
> _entire fucking drummer_
> 
> _Me 10:10_
> 
> _Time to not be_
> 
> _reminded of her._
> 
> _Geoff W. 10:11_
> 
> _How long, though? If_
> 
> _you never bring it up_
> 
> _and just go mute, it_
> 
> _could be months_
> 
> _Geoff W. 10:11_
> 
> _There’s only a week_
> 
> _left of tour_ _  
>   
>  _
> 
> _Geoff W. 10:11_
> 
> _Do you really want xmas_
> 
> _to roll around before we_
> 
> _talk this out???_
> 
> _Geoff W. 10:11_
> 
> _This is the shit therapists_
> 
> _mean when they say “its_
> 
> _a marathon, not a sprint”_
> 
> _Geoff W. 10:12_
> 
> _Nd like he cant just_
> 
> _ignore you forever. He_
> 
> _needs healthier coping_
> 
> _mechanisms than this_
> 
> _Me 10:15_
> 
> _Look, if we make him_
> 
> _talk about it before_
> 
> _he’s ready, it’ll be_
> 
> _backwards progress._
> 
> _He’ll just feel bad._
> 
> _Geoff W. 10:15_
> 
> _Can we just talk about_
> 
> _what to do next? Come_
> 
> _over. Im in my bunk_
> 
> _Me 10:16_
> 
> _He’ll overhear. Some_
> 
> _other time, buddy._

Otto closes the messaging app, fully intending to never have that conversation with Geoff.

Awsten is sitting across the couch from him. Today is the longest time Awsten has voluntarily been in his company for… Otto doesn’t know. He didn’t mark the date when they had their argument in this exact lounge because he’d thought Awsten would get over it. It hadn’t seemed important until time started passing and Otto realized that he’d lost his best friend along the way.

But Awsten is here, and has been for the past hour-and-a-half, playing guitar and pausing to check his phone at random intervals.

Otto sees his strategy working, and is, once again, content.

* * *

  
  


Nothing new happens for a few days. Otto keeps his interactions brief, and Awsten stops running. The peace they’ve arrived at is fragile. They can exist in the same area as long as Otto keeps his mouth shut. He’s not sure if Awsten knows what he’s doing, or if he’s completely oblivious, because he never acknowledges it at all. Either way, Otto counts it as a success. He didn’t need Geoff’s concern after all; this is better than wondering day after day if Awsten hates his guts. This way, Otto knows exactly what it is that Awsten hates.

For his part, Otto’s happy to have this because it means he doesn’t have to sneak around to check how Awsten is doing. The answer is still, as before, bad. Like he’d suspected, Awsten cries just as much as he had at the start. He’s just condensed his crying to time in his own bunk. He stays there longer and feigns complete normalcy when he emerges.

And nobody brings it up.

Otto doesn’t even know what he would say. He’d thought nothing was worse than Awsten crying alone, but now he’s crying alone and _hiding_ it. Otto got his wish fulfilled in the magic genie sort of way where the fine print fucks you over.

He can’t think of a single way to help, either. There’s no step-by-step for helping a friend get over their ex. And even if there was, he knows that Awsten doesn’t want it from him.

So he shuts up and keeps his eyes peeled.

* * *

  
  


The weirdest thing happens at soundcheck.

They’re screwing around, waiting for the soundboard dude to get back from asking the venue manager about something or other, but they’d been in the middle of fucking _soundcheck_ , and it’s been fifteen minutes, and they’re bored.

Geoff walks up to his risers, guitar slung over his shoulder, and says, “I’m bored. Let’s jam.”

Otto nods, twirling his sticks in his hands and sitting up. He kicks the bass drum twice and raps out a quick 5 strike roll on the snare. And then he starts ad-libbing something at a moderate tempo, just a little vamp that would be easy to comp chords to. Geoff does, of course. Otto keeps it light so Geoff isn’t locked into a sound that he isn’t looking for, and Geoff goes with it. It sounds a little less rock than Geoff usually goes for, and Otto wonders what band he’s been listening to that he’s trying out jazzier sounds before his default Linkin Park obsession.

At one point, Geoff tapers off his playing, fiddles with a scale, and glances up. _“Tantrum?”_

He only has to think for a moment to come up with the right tempo. He taps his drumsticks together four times to count Geoff in, and then they jump into the unreleased song. Geoff fucks around a little with strumming patterns, but keeps up with all the chord changes. Otto takes this as a good excuse to fuck around with changing the fills they’d written for the song prior to this tour, back in October when recording a new album seemed like the biggest problem their band would be facing.

After a couple minutes, Geoff stops, and Otto lets his beat drop too. Geoff sighs and shakes his head. “This is lame. There’s better stuff to do.”

Honestly, Otto agrees. Staring out at an empty venue is kinda cool the first few times, and then pretty boring for the remaining million times. All the excitement comes and goes with the crowd, which is absent. Even the venue’s lead tech guy is M.I.A. And Otto—

Awsten moves away from the mic stand, pocketing his phone.

For a brief second, Otto thinks he’s bailing, but Awsten goes for an acoustic guitar. He returns to the stage, testing the strings to check if it’s in tune. And then he steps up to the currently-useless mic and starts playing.

_“Light us up until we pop,_

_I wanna burn bright ‘til we’re not,_

_Let’s keep each other safe from the world.”_

Otto shoots an alarmed look at Geoff, who’s watching Awsten with as much concern as Otto feels. This is… one of the scrapped songs from Double Dare. They had about fifteen demos that just didn’t fit on the album, that Courtney insisted needed more time and development, and they’d fought but eventually settled on the tracklist that ended up finalized. That doesn’t mean Otto doesn’t remember them, and that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten that this one was the cheesiest love song Awsten had for Ciara.

They sit and watch. Otto knows that this song never got to the stage where they wrote drum parts for it, and he wonders if Geoff has forgotten the chords or if he’s just trying not to step on Awsten’s toes.

But the funny thing is that Awsten doesn’t sound upset. Awsten sings the words differently than he’s been singing their released ones. He sings the words like… like he’s doing a cover and barely paying attention, like he has no investment, like they have nothing to do with him and he’s just reading words off a lyric website.

_“Cause now I’m flyin ‘cross the country more than monthly for you._

_You’ve got me more than clumsy, but you’re m…”_

… Awsten stops singing. Stops playing. Just drifts off, staring out at an empty theater.

As if suddenly remembering that he’s not alone, Awsten’s head moves, doing a double-take as he turns around to them.

Except his eyes skate right over Geoff and lock onto Otto’s, making the first direct eye contact they’ve had in weeks. Otto feels like he’s touched a live wire. Awsten looks like he’s seen a ghost. For a long, long second, Otto stares back, afraid to breathe and shatter the moment.

And then it shatters anyway. Awsten slams back into motion, lifting the guitar strap off his shoulders and putting it back on the stand so haphazardly that Otto worries the whole thing’s gonna topple over and damage the guitar. He only says, “Call me when they’re ready to do their job,” and then he flies offstage.

Otto and Geoff look at each other, bewildered.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Geoff whispers.

It’s not that Otto has to keep quiet now, it’s just that there’s nothing going through his mind that Geoff didn’t just say.

* * *

  
  


There’s another old saying about not knowing what you have until it’s over. (Otto resents how much of his life can be summed up by old sayings right now.)

The tentative peace that Otto created by quieting himself is gone, and so is Awsten’s casual facade.

Jawn gives Otto updates on outings for food, which Awsten now forgoes whenever possible. “He won’t talk to me, or anyone. It’s like he freaked himself out over something. Or maybe something freaked him out. I don’t know, he won’t fucking tell me,” Jawn growls as he stuffs his face with fries.

“It’s weird,” Otto agrees.

“He’s in it now, though. I can see him going through it,” Jawn says. “You know what he’s like when he’s having a crisis.”

Otto nods wordlessly.

“This isn’t how he acts towards the end of a tour,” Jawn says sadly. “He should be complaining about how tired he is. There’s nothing about this that’s normal.”

“Nope.”

Jawn sighs. “I don’t know how to help him. I wish he’d listen to me and consider therapy, but he’s always the most stubborn when he’s in too deep. I mean, do you have any idea how to help?”

Hesitantly, Otto shakes his head ‘no’.

“Yeah. Because we’re not professionals.”

“We do know him better than most people do,” Otto points out.

“We’re not _life coaches_ , though,” Jawn says. “What we can offer is like… not everything. We can listen if he’ll talk to us, but when it comes to advice, I don’t think any of us know what he should do. I don’t know what I would do if I was him. And I don’t even know what’s going through his head. It’s not really fair of us to pretend like we know what he needs.”

“Maybe,” Otto says.

* * *

  
  


He said ‘maybe’, but it dawns on him as the days tick by that Jawn nailed it.

Awsten’s jumpy now. He sits on his phone for a lot of the day, and spaces out, and moves restlessly in a way that shifts out of the ‘idle motion’ category and falls straight into ‘nervous habit’.

It’s worse around Otto - that much is perfectly clear. Awsten avoids him like the plague and barely even makes excuses now. It’s not just when Otto speaks (Otto knows this because he doesn’t speak), it’s when he’s in Awsten’s line of sight at all. And everyone notices.

Otto sort of has to acknowledge this when Ben stops by his bunk, knocks on it, and glares at him as soon as he pulls back the curtain.

“Hi,” Otto says, completely fucking confused.

“Hey. Come outside with me,” Ben says, and then he walks away and right off the fucking bus.

…Well. It’s not like he has anything better to do, so he gets up and follows. Ben is waiting for him in the parking lot, and puts a hand on his shoulder and sort-of guides, sort-of pushes Otto towards the edge of the parking lot. “What’s going on, man?” Otto asks nervously.

“What the fuck did you do to Awsten?”

_Oh, that._

Otto must make a guilty face, because Ben immediately looks angry. “Otto—”

“ _Nothing!_ Nothing, I didn’t do anything,” Otto blurts out.

“Bull-fucking- _shit_ , okay? Because that guy can’t stand to be in the same room as you, and we’ve _all_ fuckin’ noticed.”

“I know. But it’s not something I did, it’s just... “ he swallows. “It’s hard to explain, but I didn’t do anything to hurt him. You can ask Geoff if you don’t believe me.”

“Then I’ll go get him right now,” Ben says as if that’s a threat. “I’ll fucking bring him here _right now._ ”

Otto nods quickly. He has nothing to fear.

Ben falters a bit at the lack of a reaction, but he doesn’t offer to stop. “Okay then. I’ll be right back.”

Otto watches Ben turn and walk back towards the Waterparks bus. He swallows again and runs a hand through his hair. He waits, watching the bus nervously. It’s only about a minute before Ben comes out with Geoff trailing behind, and Otto meets his eye. They lay it all out, explaining meticulously that though they don’t exactly know what’s causing everything, part of it was Otto’s voice being an unwelcome reminder. Honestly, Otto’s kinda surprised that Patty didn’t figure it out and tell Ben, but he keeps that to himself. He doesn’t want to volunteer a confession of eavesdropping and incriminate himself right when Ben’s easing up on the interrogation. After ten minutes, Ben’s apologizing for making assumptions and Otto’s got a sore throat from talking more than he has in a week.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Ben says, crossing his arms. “That’s a lot.”

“We’re on the same page there,” Geoff nods.

“Fuck,” Ben curses. “I mean, I’m glad Otto’s not a dick - I really didn’t wanna kick his arse - but I’m fresh out of ideas for helping Awsten now.”

“Welcome to the club.”

Meanwhile, Otto’s busy thinking. This hasn’t gotten better. It was bad enough when Awsten was just evasive and upset, but active avoidance is another beast altogether.

He has an idea.

(He doesn’t like it.)

  
  


* * *

  
  


He picks the time before soundcheck to confront Awsten.

He arrives at this time mostly by process of elimination. He can’t spring a dramatic conversation on Awsten minutes before a show, but intercepting him afterward would mean there would be no privacy at all. Pinning him down before they’re required to be in the venue would be nearly impossible, and having the conversation while driving between cities means facing the same privacy issues as post-show. It’s not like there are many shows left, either. There’s two, actually, and today is the last one with Sleep On It and Chapel and As It Is. Like it or not, the tour is ending, and Geoff had a point when he said it was a bad idea to go on break without addressing this mess.

So he waits until half an hour before soundcheck, makes sure the dressing room set up for them is empty, and then walks up to Awsten, who’s seated on a couch.

Awsten looks up at him, a little bewildered.

“Can we talk?” Otto asks.

Awsten flinches.

He feels bad, but he doesn’t have any better way to communicate. “Our dressing room’s empty right now. We can talk there.”

It feels like forever before Awsten glances at his phone screen and back at Otto. “Like, now?”

Otto nods.

Slowly, Awsten slides his phone into his jeans and stands, brushing off his shirt out of habit.

And they go, Otto’s heart rate climbing as he walks through the back door of the venue and into the room with a sign that reads **“WATERPARKS.”** Once they’re both inside, Otto turns around and watches Awsten shut the door behind them. Otto scratches the back of his neck nervously. Neither of them says anything as they look at each other.

“Otto—“

“What do you want me to do?” he blurts.

Awsten looks completely lost. He squints and leans in a little, the way he does when someone’s making zero sense. “What?”

Otto swallows. “So, I know you’ve been avoiding me. I think the whole tour knows by now. And it’s okay, I’m not mad at you. I know that my voice looking the same as hers is something that’s fucking you up. And I know you’re having a hard enough time as it is.”

“What are you saying?”

“Just that I would understand, you know,” Otto says. “If you want me to leave the band.”

Awsten’s eyes widen, and for just a second, Otto is grateful for the surprise, because surprise means that Awsten hadn’t even considered that.

"How could you think that I..." Awsten trails off, eyes searching Otto's face. He looks conflicted and - not for the first time - Otto wishes he could fix it.

"I'll do whatever you need me to do. You know that, Aws," Otto says softly.

Awsten's eyebrows furrow and he drops his gaze. As Otto watches, he closes his eyes tightly and takes a deep breath, like he's steeling his nerve. For what, Otto isn't sure. He's acutely aware of how close they're standing; it’s the closest they've been in so long.

Then Awsten's eyes snap open and he surges forward, and for a split second Otto thinks he might get punched.

Then Awsten's hands curl into the lapels of his denim jacket and he realizes he's getting _kissed_.

Otto startles, his hands jerking towards Awsten's shoulders on reflex, then away, lost. Awsten's lips are firm but gentle against his own and by the time Otto's brain comes back online enough to think to kiss back, to touch him, Awsten's already pulling away.

Otto meets his gaze and Awsten looks terrified, white as a sheet, panic written all over his face. Otto opens his mouth to say— to say _something_ , he doesn't know, but before he can get a word out Awsten's already turning around, slamming his shoulder into the door in his rush out of the room.

Blushing and bewildered and a little bit breathless, Otto watches him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the tour dates follow the real-life timeline, but we fudged the recording dates for Entertainment. Otto’s clothing choices are also canon, shout out to that crop top xoxo.


	2. Awsten

Jawn is the first one to find him after the phone call. He knocks at the wall beside Awsten’s bunk incessantly. “Dude, c’mon. We’re here. Let’s get a move on,” Jawn says.

The thought of being seen like this makes Awsten’s mental state go from _‘god awful’_ to _‘fucking kill me’_.

“Awsten. Awsten, I know you can hear me,” Jawn says. _“Awsten.”_

And he yanks the curtain open. Awsten can see the light hit the wall.

Jawn goes quiet, and Awsten curls up tighter because he knows that at this point, there’s absolutely nothing that can make this moment worse. And Jawn says, “Awsten, what’s up, man?”

“I think I’m single,” Awsten says, his voice pitchy and cracking.

There’s a sharp inhale, and then a hand presses against Awsten’s arm.

He starts sobbing again.

Jawn reaches into the bunk and wraps an arm around Awsten, dragging him closer to the edge until Jawn can give him the world’s worst hug. The warmth is nice, and his free hand comes up to run through Awsten’s hair, but at this moment, Awsten wants absolutely nothing to do with anyone in the world.

“Please don’t touch me,” he whispers.

Haltingly, Jawn’s arms retract. “What can I do?”

“Leave me alone. Please.”

There’s a pause, but Jawn’s next words are, “I’ll buy you as much time as I can.”

* * *

He’ll probably never be able to express the exact way he feels.

  
Explaining how it feels to currently be heartbroken is sort of like asking someone to remember what it feels like to break a bone. You can say your piece, and they’ll wince at the memory and offer condolences, but they will not understand on a true level that at this moment, you’re in real pain.  
  
And he is. And he still has a job to do, and no time to collect himself.  
  
Awsten does not love in half-measures. This is a vulnerability, he’s been told. By the time he’s decided he’s in love, he will already be in the deep end of it. It’s always wonderful right up until it wrecks him.  
  
He grieves for the loss of the girl he loved. He grieves for all the times she lied to his face about her feelings. He grieves for the future that he had planned out with her, but that she always knew would never happen. He grieves and grows furious himself because he was so fucking stupid to not listen when absolutely everyone told him to slow down.  
  
Everything that reminds him of her sends him back into the thick of it.  
  
His clock app on his phone (where he’d check until their time zones synced up).  
  
His music (which is nearly an entire discography dedicated to her).  
  
Otto (yellow, yellow, yellow).  
  
God, that one fucking sucks. But every time Otto opens his mouth, it’s _yellow yellow yellow yellow yellow_ and all Awsten can think about is her. On a regular day, he hardly even notices what colors pop up when someone speaks, but the yellow of Otto’s voice may as well be flashing neon and obscuring his entire field of vision. He couldn’t ignore it if he tried, and acknowledging it just makes him tear up. And yeah, maybe he’s a coward for avoiding Otto, but Awsten doesn’t really have _options_ . What’s he gonna do? Cry every time Otto enters a conversation? Awsten barely has any control over the heartbreak; some days he feels like he’s a fucking prisoner to his own emotions. The only thing he _can_ do is limit what triggers the memories. And if that includes avoiding Otto…  
  
Call him a coward, then.  
  
He just doesn’t want to feel this way more than he already does.

* * *

Awsten tries, for a while, to act completely normal, but it’s hard when he sets the bar for his own normal behavior so fucking high. He goes for aggressive kindness and feels like he’s constantly missing the target. It makes him feel awful, pretending like this. Even when it works, he feels so fake that it makes his skin crawl. And what’s worse, it’s not helping him at all.

He tells Patty nearly everything, and the two of them waste a whole afternoon talking in a parking lot. Awsten gets a sunburn, even though it’s like fifty degrees outside.

“I am sorry, by the way,” Awsten says. “It’s… like, super unfair for me to offload all of this on you.”

“It’s okay,” Patty says good-naturedly. “Ben says that these days, I’m less of a Mom Friend and more of a Therapy Friend. I’m starting to think it’s my calling.”

“But you’ve got your own stuff to worry about,” Awsten mumbles. He’s not completely oblivious. He knows that As It Is had their guitarist quit a month ago. Plus, Awsten is well aware that Patty’s songs about mental health are written from experience.

“C’mon, I said it’s fine. I meant it. And when you feel up to it, I know your bandmates would love to hear what you have to say, too.”

“Maybe,” Awsten says hesitantly.

Patty sighs. “Yeah. I know. It’s easy to _say_ _‘you should talk to someone about this’,_ and much harder to actually _do_.”  
  
“Pretty much.”

“Start thinking about it, though,” Patty says seriously. “You don’t have to until you’re ready. But have it on your radar.”

He feels guilty as he nods along because he knows with complete certainty that he’s going to totally disregard this advice.

* * *

Being in the same band as Otto is, for maybe the first time, really inconvenient. Their job and lives are structured around constant proximity. Getting away from Otto entirely would mean ditching his work, along with the hundreds of people who came here to support them.

He’s really grateful that Otto is the drummer, though. Drummers don’t have to sing on stage with voices that sound a certain way. In fact, they play largely the same, with very little personality coming through. The only thing that is distinctively Otto in the audio of a live show is how he hits the drums harder than most do, making steady explosions of sound. But other than that, it could be anyone.

Awsten tries to convince himself of this every night.

* * *

One of his greatest strengths and weaknesses is an ability to pick up on little things. Often, this is completely useless, as his memory will skip over big important details in favor of reminding him of details with absolutely no relevance. This time, it works in his favor. And though it’s not actually very little when he thinks about it, Awsten realizes one night as they stand up to go onstage that Otto has not said a single word the entire time they waited through the opening acts.

Awsten blinks, and squints, and thinks harder, because he must be wrong. He must have just been ignoring it.

But he can’t shake the thought, so he looks curiously at Otto and then steps closer to Geoff. “Hey, man. Do you think Otto’s sick or something?”

The way Geoff looks at him is unsettling. His jaw tightens and his eyes are sharp and trained on Awsten for a moment before he glances away and hums in thought. “No, I don’t… no. He’s fine. Pretty sure.”

“Yeah?” Awsten says.

“Yeah,” Geoff bites out. “He’s _fine.”_

Awsten looks at Geoff in surprise, but Geoff quickly turns away and reaches for his guitar. Reluctantly, Awsten does the same, mulling it over in his head.

He knows, of course. The answer’s pretty obvious when he thinks about it. He can’t remember Otto talking today because Otto _hasn’t_ talked today. And when he thinks back further, the past few days have been pretty light on Otto interactions. He hadn’t thought twice about it, because he had been trying to avoid Otto anyway, but maybe he hasn’t been wildly successful in evading Otto. Maybe Otto’s just... 

Otto must know, then.

Awsten doesn’t look at Otto. He doesn’t want to raise suspicion, but he’s sure of it anyway. Otto’s figured out exactly why Awsten has been avoiding him. It didn’t even take long. Barely more than a week, actually.

He’d like to be a better person and tell Otto it’s not a problem, that he can talk however much he wants.

…But it’s been so fucking nice to not make a million excuses to get away from his own bandmate. And more than that, to not be reminded of _her_ every two seconds. It’s like instead of getting kicked while he’s down, he’s finally getting a second to breathe. He can _breathe._

So he walks out on stage without saying a word to anyone about it.

* * *

That night, on the bus, Awsten sits quietly when Otto enters the lounge instead of immediately making to leave. Without the tense anticipation of misery coming when Otto opens his mouth, he’s content to be in Otto’s space. Awsten pretends to play with his phone while he watches Otto out of the corner of his eye. If Otto’s surprised that Awsten’s sticking around, he doesn’t show it, taking a seat on the couch opposite Awsten. Awsten tries to get himself to settle down and enjoy the company, but there’s something unpleasant gnawing at him. He strums a few idle chords on the guitar he was tooling out progressions on. He feels too guilty for the heavy silence to really relax.

He realizes that this is for him. He knows that. And he doesn’t think he would ever be able to ask someone to go mute just for his own comfort, but the relief of it is so all-encompassing that he can’t bring himself to intervene.

That’s terrible. He’s terrible. He bites his lip and lets out a slow, silent breath, and glares at the home page of his phone.

The best plan of action he can think of is to get better in a hurry. If he gets over Ciara, then by all logic, it shouldn’t matter what Otto sounds like, because association with Ciara won’t bother him. So that’s it. He just has to get over his most serious relationship to date and the deepest emotional damage he’s ever been dealt. Easy peasy.

* * *

Soundcheck was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago, but the venue's sound engineer is nowhere to be found, and Awsten's getting antsy.

He just wants to run through the songs and get them over with so he can stop drowning in Lyrics About Her until he has to do it all again for the show. Geoff and Otto are jamming idly behind him, and on a normal day, under normal circumstances, he'd probably join in. As it is, he's lost in lyrics and melodies he had planned for the last album but that didn't quite make it. And Christ, thank god for that. Some of them are so tender, so reverent that it makes his teeth ache to think about. Sometimes he wonders if Courtney knew more about Awsten's emotional state than he was letting on when he strongly discouraged Awsten from putting Lucky People on the record. Awsten should send him a fruit basket when they're home for Christmas.

He considers what Patty said, though, about trashing the music. About not singing about her anymore. Something about the idea of throwing it away — the melody, the lyrics, even the way he was feeling when he wrote it, as painful as it is now — just... doesn't sit right with him. His songs are all precious to him; he jokes about them feeling like his children, but they really are like parts of him made material, a snapshot of his heart and brain. They're something he can put out, share with people, say, _look, this is what's inside of my head_ . He doesn't want her to be able to take that from him too. He doesn't want pieces of his art that he still loves to be ruined forever just because _she_ went and hurt him like this. It doesn't feel fair. It _isn't_ fair. He's suddenly angry, jamming his phone back in his pocket. He may have written this song about how he felt for her, but it's _not_ her song. It's his. She can't... she can't have it.

Awsten grabs an acoustic, slings it around his neck, and stalks up to the unpowered mic stand.

He's taking his songs back. Even if it rips him apart to do it.

Otto and Geoff have gone quiet behind him, but Awsten is already a million miles away. He starts playing.

_“Light us up until we pop,_

_I wanna burn bright ‘til we’re not,_

_Let’s keep each other safe from the world.”_

It doesn't hurt like he thought it would. He feels a strange sense of calm as he works through the lyrics, the feelings that he had connected to them. He thinks of the Awsten that wrote them, someone separate from him but still the same. 

_"I know it's hard to let yourself be fine,_

_When we carry 'round our worried flurried minds,_

_But I'll let go if you do, too."_

Awsten lets himself let go.

By the time he gets to the bridge, the song isn't about her anymore. It's just his song, a blank slate. He imagines filling it with new meaning as he sings. He forces himself to imagine that someday, there will be someone in his life who deserves a song like this. Someone he loves. Someone who loves him in a way that doesn't hurt. He smiles softly.

_Cause now I’m flyin ‘cross the country more than monthly for you._

_You’ve got me more than clumsy, but you’re m…”_

Awsten blinks and trails off. _My yellow lovely._ He had written that line about her voice, but now… but _now_ , all he can think about is...

He whips his head around, heart in his throat.

Otto stares back at him from behind the drums.

Awsten feels hot and cold all over. Otto looks startled, and confused, but holds his gaze, steady as always. Awsten’s palms go clammy and his head swims. It feels like he's stuck his finger in a light socket.

He breaks the moment before he can work himself into any more of a state, spinning away and slamming the guitar back on the stand more roughly than he ever would normally. Barking something about calling him when they're ready, he dashes off stage, mind still going a mile a minute.

Shit. What the _fuck_.

* * *

If Awsten thought being around Otto was confusing and distressing before, well, he had no idea. He doesn't know what the hell is wrong with him all of a sudden. The best he can come up with is that some wires got crossed in his brain when he looked at Otto during the bridge of _Lucky People,_ and that's why his stomach does flips every time he so much as catches sight of him from across the bus now. It's not like he has fe... Awsten shakes his head to rephrase that thought before he can finish it. It's not like he _feels_ any different about Otto, or even that anything has changed. This is just a misplaced Pavlovian response to a love song that had— that _has_ nothing to do with him. That's all.

The only other explanation he's got for the way he’s feeling is that he's developed some kind of rapid-onset allergy to Otto's shampoo or something. He figures that's not so likely. He steadfastly refuses to consider a third option.

* * *

Awsten's current plan of _"Avoid Otto Until the Tour Ends and We Go Home for Christmas and I Don't Have to See Him or Think About This"_ is going pretty well, all things considered. Emotionally, he's a disaster, but he was already a disaster so that's not a notable change. It's fine. He sees Otto shooting him hurt glances whenever he vacates any room Otto enters, and feels nostalgic already for the few days of sitting in companionable (if tense) silence, but, well. Everything is fine. Completely fine.

If he can just make it to the end of tour, he can go home, hide, regroup, and make it up to Otto later. He'll let Otto take him to the skatepark and try to skate with him and not even get mad if he laughs when Awsten falls on his ass, whatever. Anything so that Otto will never, ever look this... despondent again.

All this is to say that it takes Awsten by surprise when Otto corners him before soundcheck, even though it really shouldn't.

"Can we talk?"

Awsten startles where he was playing with his phone on the couch. He looks up and immediately feels his stomach flip again.

Otto's got him pinned with a determined gaze. “Our dressing room’s empty right now. We can talk there.” It doesn't leave much room for argument.

"Like," god that came out squeaky; Awsten clears his throat and tries again, "Like, now?"

Otto only nods.

Steeling himself, Awsten rises to follow when Otto turns and heads for the dressing room. Awsten closes the door behind them, leaning back against it with his palms pressed flat to the cool metal. He feels sweaty all of a sudden.

"Otto—" he starts.

"What do you want me to do?"

Awsten blinks. _What?_ "What?" he says.

Otto looks pained. And sad.

Awsten feels like a shithead.

“So, I know you’ve been avoiding me. I think the whole tour knows by now. And it’s okay, I’m not mad at you. I know that my voice looking the same as hers is something that’s fucking you up. And I know you’re having a hard enough time as it is.” Otto says, voice hoarse. Awsten wonders when the last time he spoke this much was. Awsten feels like a shithead times two.

"What are you saying?" he asks, the pit in his stomach threatening to swallow him whole.

“Just that I would understand, you know,” Otto says, shrugging. “If you want me to leave the band.”

Awsten feels like someone just hit him over the head with a cartoon hammer. His blood runs cold. He thinks he's probably gaping ridiculously, but that was not even on the list of things he was expecting Otto to tear into him with.

"How could you think that I..." He tries to find the words to say ‘ _what’_ and ‘ _ **no** ’ _ and ‘ _there wouldn't_ **_be_ ** _a band anymore’_ and ‘ _I can't even imagine myself doing this without you’_. Otto just gazes back, eyes determined but soft.

"I'll do whatever you need me to do. You know that, Aws," he murmurs.

Awsten's heart clenches so painfully at the affectionate nickname that he has to look down. He feels like something inside of him is about to burst open. He squeezes his eyes shut and it doesn't help. His chest is full to the breaking point and it’s choking him.

Before he can think about what he's doing, or run it by the part of his brain that vetoes impulsive idiocy, he's curling his hands into Otto's jacket and pressing their lips together.

For a second, it feels like his rib cage has broken open. Otto's lips are soft and a little chapped and his nose bumps Awsten's, and _god_ it’s so nice. Awsten's heart swells and bursts.

And then the next second he feels Otto jerk against him, sees his hands come up towards Awsten's shoulders in his peripheral vision. His heart lurches, stops.

He pulls away like he's been scalded, taking in Otto's dumbstruck face, mouth still slightly open. Before Otto can say anything, he spins around, slamming into the doorframe as he hightails it out of the dressing room like the devil's on his heels.

* * *

Awsten is, to put it lightly, _freaking_ _the fuck out._ He's fucking sprinting through the labyrinthian hallways of the venue's backstage, clutching his shoulder where it throbs from being whacked against the green room door, not even sure where he's heading except _away_ . His mind is racing a mile a minute. He has just done something monumentally stupid. He has no idea what prompted him to _do_ this monumentally stupid thing. Panting, he turns the corner that leads him towards the parking lot. _Okay_ , he thinks, o _kay, we have to take inventory, we have to calm down and think of a plan_. Instead, his traitorous brain replays Otto's shocked face, the way he didn't kiss back. The way his hands had been up, about to shove him away. Awsten feels ill. Still on autopilot, he pushes open the back door, stumbling outside near the bus area. 

Jawn. He has to find Jawn.

* * *

Awsten's grateful his body knew reflexively where to take him without input from his brain because before he can consciously decide to, he’s already stumbling forwards. Jawn’s leaning against their bus, chatting with the guys from Sleep On It. He turns as he hears Awsten approach, greeting dying on his lips as he takes in Awsten's frenzy. 

"Holy shit, dude, what—"

"I need to talk to you," Awsten gasps, tugging Jawn's arm. "Alone. Over, uh, there. Please." Jawn looks bewildered but follows him, waving goodbye to the other guys.

Awsten pulls him into the shadows between the venue wall and one of the tour busses. Letting go of Jawn, he slumps against the bricks, feeling like his legs are about to give out.

Jawn is looking at him with concern. Well, more concern than usual. "Awsten, what hap—"

"I did something stupid," Awsten blurts. "I did something really really stupid and I don't know what to do and I need your help, Jawn. I don't know how I'm gonna fix it and I—"

"Dude, it's okay, take a deep breath, alright? You look like you’re gonna hurl," Jawn says, moving to put a hesitant hand on Awsten's shoulder. Awsten lets himself lean into the touch. "Slow down. Breathe. Tell me what happened."

Awsten takes a shaky, slow breath in. "I..." He feels his eyes start to prickle. _Oh, fucking hell._ "I kissed Otto.”

“You… what? Why? _Otto?”_ Jawn sounds incredulous. “I thought you were avoiding him because his voice stressed you out— what happened?”

Awsten shakes his head. “I don’t know, I… I think I might have… Like, I think I? With _Lucky People_ , and the yellow, and…”

Jawn is looking at him like he’s speaking Greek.

He realizes he’s not making any sense. “I think I like him,” Awsten says. The second it leaves his mouth he feels lightheaded. “I think I like Otto,” he repeats, sliding down the wall to sit on his heels. He folds his arms on his knees and buries his face in them.

Jawn sinks down and sits next to him, slinging an arm over his shoulder. Awsten doesn’t look up. “How long have you known?” he asks. Awsten shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” Awsten whispers, not feeling steady enough to even speak at a normal volume.

“Do you think it’s possible…” Jawn pauses, and shifts, and then rubs at Awsten’s shoulder as he asks, “do you think you might like him because he reminds you of her?”

Awsten wraps his arms tighter around his knees. “I think…”

Jawn doesn’t rush him.

“I think I might’ve liked her because she reminded me of _him_.”

“… shit.”

Awsten’s face crumples where it’s hidden against his knees. He hiccups a quiet sob, hoping futilely that Jawn won’t hear. Of course, though, Jawn does hear. He strokes Awsten’s back soothingly, murmuring comforting nonsense as tears soak into Awsten’s jeans. He feels his shoulders start to shake as Jawn slides his other hand to Awsten’s hair, petting gently. None of it really helps, but it doesn’t make Awsten feel any worse as he tries to breathe through it. It feels like his world is crashing down around him. Maybe it is.

“Awsten,” Jawn says after his sobs have died down a bit. “I don’t… know if Otto likes you back. At least in that way.”

Awsten heaves in a breath, thinking, _what the fuck, dude?_

But Jawn’s arm just pulls him in closer. “But he cares. He cares about you so much. More than she did. I can promise you that, and I can promise that you didn’t ruin anything.”

Awsten sniffles and tries to believe him.

* * *

The show goes off without a hitch. Just like any night, they go out and perform as if Awsten isn’t living through a crisis; Geoff and Otto appear lost in the music, and Awsten busies himself with hitting notes instead of thinking too hard. After the show, it’s easy to slip back into the habit of Avoid Otto Like The Plague, just a little more aggressively than usual, and so he gets away with nothing more than a concerned glance from Jawn.

It’s the nighttime when he runs into the unavoidable obstacle: his own brain.

Lying in his bunk, unable to sleep, he starts thinking about Otto, as per fucking usual. Awsten's always, _always_ loved being around him. Even the first time they met, that first chaotic band practice at his house, Awsten found himself wanting to spend more time together; they clicked so well he invited Otto out for a celebratory Chipotle dinner, toasting the new friendship, squeezing every minute out of the hangout. Ever since, Awsten would invent any stupid activity or barely-there excuse to coax Otto out of his hermitical ways and into spending time with him. _Otto, come over, let's set off fireworks in the street; Otto, come over, I just got_ Big Fish _on blu-ray and we have to watch it; Otto, come over, me and Jawn are building paper tower castles in Walmart and we need a lookout._ Awsten's come up with any number of ways to get Otto into his space, spending time with him, and for all he pretends to like being off the grid, Otto always, always takes him up on them. 

The fact that Otto is markedly more reserved than most of Awsten's friends makes every reaction Awsten can pull out of him ten times more rewarding. Every time one of his jokes or antics can get Otto to react, to look at him, to laugh with that warm, sunshine-yellow voice, Awsten feels like a million bucks. Whenever Otto is polite but guarded with an interviewer, then immediately goofy and dumb alone with Awsten and Geoff backstage, he thinks _yes, yes, yes_. It's addicting, the attention Otto gives him when they hang out together. It makes him feel special, illuminated. He's not sure why it feels so different from the laughs he gets from hamming it up for Jawn, or Travis, or even Geoff. He always chalked it up to the extra work it took. He didn’t think about it too hard.

Except now he’s considering it, rolling it around in his mind. Maybe all along, the times he thought he was just proud to have made Otto smile were less about getting a reaction from a stoic friend and more about impressing a crush.

And wouldn’t that be right on brand, too? Awsten’s life experience with falling in love has always been that it’s crushingly immediate and all-consuming from the second that he recognizes the feeling. Right now is unfortunately no different; he knows this feeling of being head-over-heels.

Love is going to destroy him.

His one solace is that he does believe Jawn. Otto is his friend. Otto cares enough to make this work, to let Awsten down easy.

He’ll be okay, probably. He just needs to calm down. 

* * *

The next show is the last one of the Made In America Tour, and it’s in Houston. Awsten doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to stop performing; not even the end of Warped could hold a candle to this. He enjoys the celebration in the venue after it closes and toasts everyone with his water bottle and sighs in satisfaction as the night wraps up.

Eventually, he decides that he’s played along enough and announces that he’s going home, but that he’ll keep in touch. Some of the crew complain, but send him off with wishes for happy holidays. Along the way, Jawn announces rather loudly that the whole Waterparks band is following suit, and he glances over his shoulder to find his entire band trailing him. “I’m beat,” Awsten says. “Planning on getting a ride from my parents and heading home.”

“We’re just going to the bus, right?” Geoff says.

“We’ve got to grab our bags anyway,” Jawn agrees.

Awsten nods, glancing briefly at Otto, who slips ahead and leads them down the hall. _Fucking Otto._ In a few hours, Awsten’s gonna be in his own bed, with the time and space to figure this out, and miles and miles between him and Otto. It’s gonna be great.

He thinks that’s the end of it, until he climbs up to the bus stairs and hears the door slam behind him.

Awsten turns on the spot and gives it a shove. “Geoff?”

“Sorry, Awsten! I won’t be listening,” Geoff shouts from the outside. “Text me when you’re done, Otto!”

Awsten’s eyes widen as he whirls around to look at Otto. “The fuck, dude?”

“You’d never have talked to me if I didn’t…” Otto sighs. “Look. It’s nothing bad. I just wanted to give you an early Christmas present.”

“I’m not going back to LA until we record,” Awsten says, needlessly. “I’m staying in Houston for Christmas. We can exchange later.”

“I really want to give it to you now,” Otto says.

Awsten forces himself to swallow his nerves and stop freaking out. If he’s gonna get awkwardly let down, they might as well get it over with now. “Okay.”

Otto steps over to his bunk and reaches into it, shuffling around and grabbing a couple of things: one poorly-wrapped gift the shape and size of a cereal box, and one envelope. Then, he moves over to the couches and sits on the only one without a bunch of backpacks and gear on it.

“Christmas is in a couple weeks,” he tries again.

“Yeah, I know,” Otto agrees. He lifts the wrapped box towards Awsten. “Open this one first.”

Taking a deep breath, Awsten scales the rest of the steps and takes a seat on the couch, a few careful inches from Otto. He reaches up for the box and almost fumbles it when he feels how heavy it is. Something inside shifts and thunks and sends its center of gravity to the side, and when he tilts it back it goes the other way just as easily, making a _CLINK_ noise.

Confused, he sets it vertically between his legs and starts ripping at the wrapping paper. Of course, it is a cereal box. He huffs a fond, gentle sigh as he peels the paper back enough to get the top of the cereal box open, and then he pulls the cardboard top open.

From inside, he pulls out the first of three identical candles. They’re the tall kind, almost enough to look like the religious Virgin Mary candles, but the one he holds has clear glass to show the solid orange wax inside. He reaches for the next - pink - and the next - yellow. They’re… they’re his favorite colors.

“There’s one more thing in there,” Otto says. “Probably against a side. Sorry. I couldn’t find another thing to wrap it in.”

Awsten nods and reaches in, his fingers touching thin wood and glass. When he pulls it out, he stares at a picture frame with an image inside (an image that, judging by the terrible color quality, was probably printed from an ordinary printer with regular toner). The picture is ancient. It’s from before they had an actual album, and Awsten thinks it’s even before they released Cluster.

Inside the photograph, Geoff is caught lurching away as Awsten, who’d just jumped on Otto’s back, falls forward into a pool. Awsten remembers this, remembers telling Jawn to take a picture because he was about to tackle Otto into the water, and he remembers how it was funny right up until his lungs started aching under the water because he’d gone down yelling, wasting oxygen. He remembers realizing that he was holding Otto underwater too. He remembers panicking as they both pushed off the pool floor to the surface, and he remembers all of it evaporating when Otto came up laughing his ass off. And he laughed too, and everyone was laughing except Geoff, who’d been worrying just as much as Awsten had. But in this moment captured on the photograph, right before any of that, he can see that Otto is already smiling.

“When…” Awsten mumbles. He looks up at Otto, who watches closely. “This is nice. Thank you.”

“Last thing. I promise,” Otto says. He holds up the envelope.

Awsten takes it quickly, afraid that if he’s slow, it’ll be clear how much his hands are shaking.

The back of the envelope says **“AWSTEN”** in Sharpie, distinctly Otto’s blocky handwriting. He tears it open and pulls out the paper inside.

> _I think I love you._
> 
> _Wherever you want to go from there, I’ll follow your lead. If you need time, or space, or to never mention this again, that’s all okay. The last gift is supposed to be a kiss, though. If you want it._

He feels his breathing quicken, and he bites his lip and looks at Otto. “You’re serious?”

Otto’s cheeks are ruddy, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m serious.”

Awsten’s mouth has gone dry. He drops his gaze back down to the letter, tracing the word ' _love'_ with his thumb.

“I do,” he whispers. “Want it, I mean. The… yeah.” His face is on fire. _God,_ he feels like such a girl.

He feels the couch dip next to his thigh. When he looks up, Otto is right there, leaning over him with a knee on the cushion. His breath catches in his throat.

“Are you sure?” Otto whispers.

In lieu of an answer, Awsten pulls him in with both hands on Otto’s cheeks and kisses him soundly.

Otto’s hands come up to rest on Awsten’s shoulders, squeezing lightly as he grins against Awsten’s lips and kisses back. One hand moves to cup Awsten’s cheek gently, then further back to comb through the short hair behind his ear, tilting his head up a bit so they fit together better. Awsten can feel his heartbeat in his cheeks and he’s pretty sure his face is actually, literally on fire.

Otto’s lips are soft against his own, and when Awsten sighs into the kiss, the hand in his hair tightens just a little. He’s kind of into it.

Eventually, Otto pulls back and they both catch their breath, faces still inches apart. Awsten lets his eyes slip shut again.

“So…” Otto starts, but Awsten can hear the smile in his voice. He can’t keep the grin off his own face.

“So,” he agrees.

Otto just laughs and kisses him again.

There’s a lot to talk about. Awsten is an emotional wreck being held together by a few threads, and he only realized this whole thing was actually love because he was confused about his ex. He’s sure that both of them are worried about how genuine this is. The timing is obviously awful from Awsten’s end, and it wasn’t on Otto’s radar until a few days ago. There’s a chance - and a pretty decent chance at that - that this is something that could fall apart before it even begins. So Awsten pulls away and presses his forehead to Otto’s chest. “Promise me we’ll figure this out. Please.”

“You can’t ditch me now, Aws,” Otto says, his arms pulling Awsten closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

It’s a week after they’ve gotten back from tour, and Awsten is tucked up on a couch at Otto’s parents’ farm. For the last couple days they’d agreed to spend time apart, catching up on sleep and letting this all sink in before they talked about it. Honestly, Awsten had spent most of that time worrying that Otto would change his mind, even though it was his idea to wait and let things settle.

But here they are. Otto lays half on top of Awsten, under a pile of blankets, watching the TV play a yule log video in a mockery of a fireplace in the living room.

“I don’t think I’m physically capable of a casual relationship,” Awsten says softly.

“Okay,” Otto says, in the same casual tone you would use to agree with someone who says they’re ordering pizza for dinner.

“I’m not joking,” Awsten hisses.

Otto’s arms tighten around his waist. “Neither am I. We’ve lived on top of each other for nearly half a decade, Awsten. I don’t think ‘ _clingy’_ is gonna be a deal breaker.”

Awsten bonks his head lightly against Otto’s, considering. “I’ve also never dated a boy before. I might be bad at it,” he says.

“Me neither. So, same. We’ll figure it out,” Otto replies calmly. He twines their ankles together where their legs rest on top of one another.

“We probably shouldn’t go public with this,” Awsten says.

“Thank god.”

“It’s still a pretty serious change to the dynamic. We could break up the—”

“If you say _‘We could break up the band’_ I’m gonna kick you,” Otto laughs. It makes Awsten squirm where Otto’s hair tickles his collarbone. 

Otto stills.

“I mean—” Otto stops and his head turns, bumping Awsten’s shoulder. “I mean. It’s not like I’m just a rebound. Right?”

“No! I—” Awsten stops.

He doesn’t blame Otto for having that fear.

“I actually…” Awsten starts again, softer this time. “For a while, I thought the fact that both of you had the same color voice was a coincidence.” He takes a deep breath. “But the more I thought about it, the more I think the color of her voice might have been part of the reason I fell for her so fast,” he says, turning his head away from Otto and pushing his face into the couch’s armrest. “I think I fell in love with her right off the bat because… because her voice stirred up feelings I already had, like, buried in my mind and shit. Uh, feelings for you. Because I— love your voice. And your laugh. I always have,” He finishes, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable for having said all that.

“I liked you when we were younger, too,” Otto says quietly. “I convinced myself I was over it because you and— I didn’t want… I didn’t want to be the reason…”

“She was the reason,” Awsten says quietly. “It hurts. And I think the things she did to fuck with me, those are… some of that’s never gonna heal right. But that’s got nothing to do with you. I’m kinda wrecked, and kinda insecure, and kinda super terrified that this is gonna blow up because that’s just my fucking luck, but you… Otto, you gotta know that you’re not a quick fix to all that. I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’t a hundred percent certain it was real. You’re not a band-aid.”

Otto is motionless against his side. “Do you mean that?” he asks.

Awsten just nods, not daring to turn his head.

“Awsten. Hey. Aws, look at me,” Otto says, tugging on his opposite shoulder. Reluctantly, Awsten turns back to him, and is shocked to see the emotion on Otto’s face. He feels his stomach flip again.

“That makes me really happy,” Otto says, voice thick. He takes one of Awsten’s hands in his own, holding it between their chests.

“Dude, are you crying?” Awsten asks in disbelief, bringing his other hand up to Otto’s face and running his thumb below his eye.

“Okay, listen, like, _you_ go a whole month thinking your voice is hurting your best friend, okay?” Otto laughs, his voice raspy. “I was so scared to talk because I knew hearing me hurt you, and the worst part was I couldn’t even _talk_ to you about _not_ talking to you!”

Awsten’s chest squeezes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Otto just shakes his head. “It’s okay. You know I would have done anything to make you feel better, or to make it hurt less if I could,” he says, eyes crinkling.

Awsten feels impossibly fond. “Thank you,” he says, leaning in and pressing his forehead against Otto’s.

Otto starts laughing suddenly, body shaking.

“What?” Awsten says, pulling back to get a look at his face.

“It’s just—” Otto breaks off on a chuckle, “dude, she’s probably gonna be so pissed when she finds out you got with your drummer _immediately_ after breaking up,” he laughs, eyes full of mirth.

“Oh my god!” Awsten yelps, starting to laugh himself. “Dude, there is no way she’s gonna believe we weren’t hooking up the whole time.” This makes Otto laugh even harder, tipping his head back.

“But she won’t even— she won’t even be able to say anything because like,” Otto breaks off, laughing too hard to get the rest out.

Awsten finishes for him, “Because pot and kettle, motherfucker! Holy shit,” he wheezes.

As Awsten giggles along with Otto, he thinks that he feels lighter than he has in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick shout out to [scattered_thoughts_and_ink_drops,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scattered_thoughts_and_ink_drops) who read through this whole thing to make sure it made sense.


	3. Epilogue

Awsten turns the dial to control the on-screen slider, trying to find the precise amount of reverb to add on the backing vocals. Somewhere between 5 and 7.4 will sound _amazing_ if he can just pinpoint where—

"Awsten, it's fine, leave it alone," Courtney laughs from behind him in the mixing booth. "It doesn’t need more reverb than it has."

"But it needs to be perfect," Awsten whines, twisting the dial back. Maybe it _is_ too much.

"If you're _really_ worried about it being perfect, why don't you listen to me about the key change on—" Courtney starts.

"No! No. Shh. We've been over this. That bridge is good. And _I don't care that it's 'technically in the wrong key',_ it sounds good the way it is!!" He rushes the last part out as he sees Courtney open his mouth to argue. Courtney just shakes his head, holding his hands up towards Otto as if to say _‘I tried’_.

Otto laughs from where he's jammed to the side of the oversized office chair he's sharing with Awsten (who had plopped down half on his lap). Awsten just shoves affectionately at his shoulder and goes back to his mixing.

It's a balmy January day in LA and they're back in the studio, finishing the mixing and mastering of the new album. Otto technically doesn't need to be there, since this is Awsten's realm, but Awsten had insisted that he absolutely _needed_ him there, so here he is. Jawn and Geoff are off somewhere in downtown, ostensibly scouting photo shoot locations but more than likely goofing around in Little Tokyo.

Awsten had written so much of the album on tour, before the breakup, that he had faced the very real fear that he wouldn't be able to look at it again, wouldn't be able to put any of it out. He's pleasantly surprised at the Maddens' willingness to let him rewrite some parts that they’d already agreed on, even though it meant being flexible with the studio time.

He has yet to tell anyone that he wants an extra song on the album, though.

Courtney stands and stretches. "Alright, I'm calling a lunch break. We'll start back up in an hour or so." Turning to address Awsten, he adds, "You don't have to stop working, but you've been here since 7 and I _insist_ that you at least eat something." Awsten sticks his tongue out at Courtney's retreating back, but he appreciates the affection. He knows this is Courtney showing he cares in that manly _‘I’ll never say it out loud’_ kind of way.

Once Courtney has left and they’re alone in the studio, Awsten hops off the chair and slides back on the other way around, knees bracketing Otto’s thighs. “Woah, woah, careful,” Otto says, wrapping his arms around Awsten’s back to keep him upright as the chair wobbles unsteadily. Awsten just eases down until he’s sitting on Otto’s knees and gives him a self-satisfied grin.

"Do you want to go find something to eat? We can order something in if you want," Otto says. "I know you wanna maximize your studio time, but we really _should_ get some food."

"I know, I will, I promise. I had something I wanted to talk to you about first, though," Awsten says, wiggling his hands in between Otto's back and the chair.

"That's a little ominous. What is it?" Otto asks.

"Oh, no, not like... well," Awsten muses, "maybe a little. I... want to record _Lucky People_."

Otto freezes. Awsten holds his breath.

"You're...putting it on the album?" Otto asks after a moment.

Awsten nods. "Yeah. I wanted to record it and tack it on. Just acoustic. Probably not a lot of post-production either, just me and a guitar, I think. Like a demo."

Otto is quiet.

Awsten sort of wants to freak out at the nonreaction, but he knows that it’s a request with some personal implications, so he tells himself to wait to hear what Otto actually has to say.

"Is this... about her?" he finally asks, voice light.

"What? What, no—" Awsten puts his hands on Otto’s shoulders and looks Otto in the eye. "This is specifically _not_ about her. This is about moving on from her. It’s about the only thing I can think of when I hear that song being... um, you. Like, actually to the point where I rewrote lyrics to make it fit how I feel."

He knows this is a real conversation that they have to have. He still feels his face turning red when he realizes what he has to explain next. Awsten has to look away to actually say it at all.

"Ok, weirdly enough, working through _Lucky People_ ended up being what finally got me out of my head, after it all happened. I liked the song before; I think it's one of the best ones I've written. I was so scared it was gonna be ruined, but it's not. It's just different. I want... I wanted to ask you first. If it rubs you the wrong way I’ll drop it." Awsten takes a deep breath. "What do you say?"

When he looks up, Otto is smiling. "I'd really like that, Aws," he says, eyes warm and gaze fond. "I do feel awfully lucky."

Awsten's heart suddenly feels too big, pushing at his throat. "That was lame," he croaks, pushing at Otto's chest weakly.

Otto starts laughing.

"No, stop it, don't laugh, that was lame for real," Awsten says, swatting at Otto's face. Otto just stops the motion by catching his hand, holding it up and out of the way just above their shoulders. His fingers slip between Awsten’s.

"You have my permission to record me a love song," Otto murmurs.

"Okay," Awsten says. He can't help but grin. "I like your hair short like this," he continues, running his free hand through the close-cropped fuzz to cup the back of Otto's skull. He had buzzed his hair shorter than Awsten's ever seen it over the break, and though it's still short it's already starting to get curly again. It feels soft against Awsten's palm.

Otto tugs Awsten closer with the arm around his back until he shifts so they're pressed together from waist to chest. 

"Mr. Knight, this is very unprofessional for a workplace environment. I shouldn't have to remind you that we're on the label's time," he scolds, eyebrows drawn.

"What?! Oh, bitch, I'll show you unprofessional," Awsten yelps, leaning in to catch Otto in a kiss.

It's goofy at first, both of them still smiling as their noses bump. But then Otto drops Awsten's hand to twine his fingers in the purple hair at the base of his neck, turning Awsten's head to deepen the kiss and giving a quick tug. Awsten gasps and scratches his nails against Otto's scalp, goosebumps rising on his arms. He spreads his knees to sink lower onto Otto's lap for a better angle, catching his bottom lip between his teeth.

Otto gasps and pulls Awsten back by the hair, color high in his cheeks. "Wait, we need to order food, seriously, Courtney’s gonna kick our asses if we forget," he says hoarsely.

“You’re killing the mood,” Awsten retorts, and leans in to keep kissing him.

“No, really,” Otto says, putting his hands on Awsten’s chest. “I’m getting hungry. And it’s not like you weren’t gonna kill the mood when you ran off to record your new song.”

“Shut up,” Awsten says.

“Oh, you _weren’t?”_

Awsten twists backward to grab his phone where it rests on the soundboard and presses it into Otto's hand. "Ask Geoff to bring back Chipotle, then," he says. “You get food, I get to record, and we both end up cockblocked.”

Otto groans and thunks his head against the back of the chair. "I actually cannot believe you," he says, unlocking Awsten's phone from memory. _1-2-2-8._

Awsten grins and presses a kiss to Otto’s cheek before sliding off the chair in search of a guitar.

* * *

By some miracle, he gets a take he’s happy with before Jawn and Geoff come crashing into the studio.

He’s still got an acoustic guitar strapped to his back as he stands behind Otto’s chair in the booth, playing the audio file back and making sure that there’s not any parts he needs to re-record.

“Food!” Jawn’s voice bellows, making Awsten jump.

“Jesus,” he hisses, turning to glare at Jawn, who just grins back. As Jawn hands the brown takeout bag to Otto, Geoff steps forward towards Awsten with arms wide open.

Somehow, Geoff worms his arms under the guitar to grab him in a bearhug. Awsten whines at it. “Ugh, Geoff your stupid hands are all sweaty. Why are you grabbing at me?”  
  
“Aww, I just missed you today,” Geoff chirps.

“We’re living in the same AirBnB,” Awsten squints.

“Yeah, but this is like a vacation. I wanna be hanging out all the time!”

“A vacation? They literally flew us out here to work,” Otto says, bemused, and Awsten sends him a grateful look for the support.

“Yeah but— I feel bad for being snippy with you on tour. That was a whole bad deal. But now it’s so much better, ‘cause you’re happy and Otto’s happy and no one’s actively depressed or ignoring anyone. The band is back and we don’t hate each other!” Geoff says cheerfully. “Fucking A+ if you ask me.”

“Did y’all hit up a bar or something?” Otto asks Jawn quietly.

“Nah, he’s just sentimental today,” Jawn says.

“I really am sorry,” Geoff says, squeezing Awsten one more time. “I was just so upset on Otto’s behalf and—”

“No, yeah, apology accepted. I love you too, but pleeeeease get your wet furnace hands off me,” Awsten gripes, patting at Geoff’s shoulders like he can tap out that way.

Geoff draws back, and only then does he seem to register the guitar on Awsten’s back. “Oh, did something need to be re-recorded for _Peach_?”

“Nah, _Peach_ is fine,” Awsten says. “I was just recording something new.”

He can see the gears turning in Geoff’s head, trying to figure out how they could possibly be writing an entirely new song this late into production. “Uh… what kinda new?” he asks.

Awsten looks over to Otto and gestures at the computer, and Otto leans forward to press play.

_Lucky People_ starts playing over the speakers. Awsten shoots Otto a grin as a thank-you and then walks over to look inside the Chipotle bag. Looks like there’s three burritos in there; probably two for Otto and one for him. He nods and sets it on the table a good distance from the soundboard. When he looks back up, Geoff is looking nervously between Otto and Awsten.

After a second, Awsten kicks Otto’s foot gently and nods at Geoff.

Otto takes a second to catch up, but he connects the dots fast enough. “Oh. It’s cool, Geoff. It’s like, _Lucky People Version 2.”_

“Oh,” Geoff says. “So it’s about…?”

“Just listen,” Otto says, pointing to the speakers.

_“-day, Merry Christmas to the one I give my kisses  
_ _  
_ _I’m leaving you love notes in the kitchen that say it all_

_Sometimes my head’s out of commission,_

_But Cupid sent me on a mission_

_So all I ask is that you’d be there when I fall_

_Let’s be lucky people, you and me.”_

“I actually think it’s pretty romantic for Awsten to stick a love song about me on the album,” Otto clarifies with a smile.

Geoff’s face splits into a grin and he steps forward and scoops them both up in the most awkward group hug ever. It improves marginally when Otto gets up from the chair and they’re all standing, but Geoff still hugs too tight.

In the background the track plays on, his own voice singing,

_“And I’m rewriting sappy songs_

_I think were for you all along_

_Let’s keep each other safe from the world.”_

“So happy for you,” Geoff murmurs.

“Aww, buddy,” Otto coos.

“We get it, you’re very supportive and you love us,” Awsten says. “Now _get off,_ I wanna eat.”

Awsten peels himself away from the group hug and stumbles over to Jawn, who’s already holding out a burrito for him. Jawn smirks, though. “I’m glad he’s helping you get over it. I was worried for a while, there, and I’d like to think I know you pretty well.”

“Well, it’s not like it doesn’t hurt,” Awsten says. “And I’m always gonna be scared that I’m just, like, doomed to always have my relationships end in total disaster. But it’s… like, it’s _Otto_. I have to take that risk.”

“You’re in so fucking deep,” Jawn teases.

Awsten rolls his eyes as he bites into his lunch.

_“My common sense is powerless and I’m convinced that you_

_Have taught me love is something I can give  
  
_ _To anyone I choose, and you’re the perfect fit_

_‘Cause now I only want a future where I share it with you_

_You’ve got me more than clumsy, but you’re my yellow lovely.”_

* * *

By the time they get out of the studio, the sun is setting over Burbank. Awsten makes Otto stop so he can take a photo of the palm trees silhouetted against the orange sky.

“Otto, c’mere and let me get one of us together,” Awsten says, slinging his arm around Otto’s shoulder and pressing their cheeks together.

“Seriously?” Otto groans, “The stereotypical LA tourist picture?”

“Shut up, motherfucker, you’re gonna be so glad to have this framed on the mantle when we’re 75 and old and gray,” Awsten says, lifting his phone above their heads. “You’re gonna be all like, _‘look how hot and ripped I was. Man, I miss being 27. Awsten still looks the same though, glad I married someone who drinks baby blood and never ages.’_ ”

He snaps the pic right when Otto bursts out laughing.

“There. Now, was that so hard?” Awsten asks. He spares a second to check the photo before pocketing his phone. It’s fairly blurry, and Awsten couldn’t care less. Otto just rolls his eyes fondly and pulls Awsten down for a kiss.

“Y’all, stop being gross back there and hurry up. The Uber’s here,” Jawn yells from down the sidewalk.

Otto takes Awsten’s hand and sets them off jogging down the street, the warm glow of the sunset illuminating his face when he looks over and smiles.

Awsten's heart flutters inside his chest.

Fuck luck, and fuck fate. He’s here right now because he’s _choosing_ to be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/28 is Otto's birthday :-)
> 
> Thanks for clicking, reading, and sticking around until the very end! <3


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